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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957053">Reunion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salchat/pseuds/Salchat'>Salchat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stargate Atlantis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, BAMF Rodney McKay, Backstory, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Dancing, Established Relationship, Hints of Domestic Violence, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hugs, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Nicknames, Old Friends, School Reunion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:00:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salchat/pseuds/Salchat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney decides to go to his High School reunion, and meets an old friend and an old enemy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rodney McKay/John Sheppard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dear Readers,<br/>This was meant to be a piece of fluff with dancing and lots of eighties music, but someone always has to spoil it, don't they?  I hope you enjoy it!<br/>Salchat</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“A reunion?  Really?”</p><p>“Yes.  Class of ‘84.”</p><p>“And you’re gonna go?”</p><p>“Why shouldn’t I go?  I’ve got plenty of leave coming.  So have you.”</p><p>“What?  <em>I’m</em> going?”</p><p>“Well, yes, that is, if you want to.  I mean, you don’t have to…”</p><p>“Of course I’ll come with you if you want me there.  When is it?”</p><p>Rodney checked the e-mail.  “Three weeks. The 27th.”</p><p>“Oh, I’ve got that thing.”</p><p>“What thing?  If you don’t want to come, just say!”  Rodney sat back and folded his arms and tried to look as though he didn't care either way.</p><p>John, perching on the edge of Rodney’s workbench, squirmed and grimaced.  “No, I do want to come.  Kinda.  High School reunions give me the ‘eesh’.”  John shuddered dramatically.  “But I want to come for you.”  He smirked.  “Ha.  Come.  For you.”</p><p>“Juvenile.”</p><p>“Always,” said John, nudging Rodney with a swinging foot.  “But seriously, I’ve got that thing where I have to refresh my flying skills.  Gotta fly all kinds of helos …" He lapsed into dreamily smiling silence.</p><p>“Sheppard!”  Rodney reached up and snapped his fingers in front of John’s face.  “John!  Mind on the job here!”</p><p>His partner’s eyes refocussed.  “Huh, sorry.  Zoned out for a minute there.”</p><p>“Yes, well I’m not surprised - the thought of all those Gs, no doubt.”  Rodney returned to contemplating his email, wiggling his finger on the touchpad to make the cursor dance in spirals.  “I’d forgotten about your review thing.”</p><p>“I might be done in time.  To come to your reunion.  If you’re sure you’re gonna go.”</p><p>“I said I’m going.  Why wouldn’t I go?”</p><p>John shrugged.  “Well, you can’t tell ‘em anything, can you?  You can’t come in like the big ‘I am’ and stick it to the jocks that used to steal your lunch money and make you wear your -”</p><p>“Yes, thank you, I don’t need to be reminded of that little episode.  And anyways, what makes you think I want to show off my multiple ground-breaking achievements?”</p><p>John looked down at him, his expression guarded, a sceptical eyebrow raised.  “Isn’t that kinda the point of these things?”</p><p>“Maybe I just want to renew my acquaintance with the old alma mater!”</p><p>John snorted.  “Yeah, right.”</p><p>“Hmph.  Well, I’m going anyway.”  His fingers rattled away in a flurry of rapid keystrokes.  “There.  I’ve replied.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>oOo</p>
</div>John was right.  Rodney couldn’t tell anyone anything about what he did.  But he could wear an extremely expensive suit and puff out his chest while making thinly veiled allusions to military secrets of the deepest darkest type, while tapping the side of his nose and schooling his features into an expression which told of his wisdom, benevolence, tolerance of lesser mortals and ever-so-slightly amused condescension.<p>Whereupon his old tormentors would simply crumble beneath his aura of success and awesomeness and hang upon his every word.  He wouldn’t say much, though.  No, they’d want him to speak; they’d be desperate for his opinion on everything from politics to the buffet table.  But he’d limit himself to rueful shakes of his head at their childlike antics and the occasional slight grimace and sideways nod to indicate that their primitive ideas were on the right track and might just reach some kind of useful conclusion, given another couple of thousand years’ evolution.</p><p>Rodney tried out various expressions of benign statesmanlike dignity in front of his hotel mirror, as he adjusted his smart silk tie and straightened the collar of his beautiful slate-grey suit; a slight narrowing of his eyes, a little raise of his chin, his head tilted just so, as if pondering thoughts too great for his loyal subjects to comprehend.  Then he experimented with a thunderous mask of disapproval, just in case anyone offered him a seafood item garnished with lemon or some such atrocity.</p><p>He gave a little hum and bobbed up and down, his heels lifting off the tiled floor in jaunty anticipation.  All those years of ridicule, all the put-downs, all the skirting around the fringes of a society he didn’t understand, didn’t fit into and didn’t want to understand or fit into - now was the table-turning moment where he’d be the one at the centre of things, surrounded by a court of willing admirers.  He would briefly grace Fort McMurray High with his illustrious presence and then vanish into the night, leaving behind just the faintest scent of expensive aftershave and a raft of broken or jealous hearts.</p><p>Rodney turned away from the mirror, went back into the bedroom area and sat down on the bed. It was a shame John couldn't be here to witness his triumph.  He'd said he'd try, even if he had to get a late flight, but Rodney didn't hold out much hope.</p><p>He slipped his feet into his shiny new shoes, admiring their converging sides.  They were stylish, but not too pointy.  He didn’t want to look like Rumplestiltskin.  Had Rumplestiltskin worn over-pointy shoes?  Yes, surely with a name like that, he had.</p><p>He bent over to lace them up.</p><p>And he remembered, in a similar situation, a kick to his then extremely skinny rear end sending him sprawling on the floor of the school locker room to be jeered at and humiliated by the usual crowd, or in fact anyone who was nearby, because if you didn’t join in with Nate Tremblay’s jeers, you pretty soon found yourself the subject of them.</p><p>Nate Tremblay, the bane of Rodney's existence.  Blessed with maturity of physique beyond his years and a countenance that would have been pleasing but for the permanent sneer, he led his little coterie of minions like a battleship leading a flotilla.  When Nate and his goons walked the halls of Fort McMurray High, all bowed before him, or were left, trampled and broken, in his wake.  And some bowed but were trampled anyway.</p><p>Rodney had tended toward scuttling avoidance in default of bowing.  He and his small group of nerds, geeks and assorted misfits (call them what you would, they were the future rulers of the world, or indeed, masters of two galaxies if not the actual universe), had flitted like shadows through the interstices of school life, inhabiting the dusty corners of labs or stock-cupboards, and the ill-equipped modular building where the few computers were housed.  But they hadn't always been able to avoid Nate and his puffed-up, golden-boy ego.</p><p>Nate wouldn't still be around, though.  It had frequently been said that Nate was 'going places.' His father deeply involved in both local politics and the booming oil and gas industry, Nate had wanted for nothing and, as he had regularly announced, wasn't going to hang around in a redneck backwater Hicksville a minute longer than he had to.</p><p>He'd be throwing his weight around the international business world by now, or into high level politics or something.  Rodney wouldn't condescend to Google the ape.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>oOo</p>
</div>Rodney got the cab to drop him a block away from the school.  He'd ridden this way on his bike every day for years, and he wanted to take his time, see what had changed, savour his moment of conquering glory.<p>He paid off the driver and began to walk, his new shoes clicking smartly on the sidewalk.  It was all much the same; the river, obviously, the Walmart, (almost as permanent as the river), a scattering of pizza joints - nothing of any particular interest.  He paused by a street entrance, which sloped down to a discreet area of the riverbank where he'd once been forcibly directed by Nate and his gang.  His school bag had met a watery end at the hands of the hostiles, followed by his bike and followed very nearly by himself, but, just in time, the culprits had been distracted by different prey in the form of Terri Johnson and most of the cheerleading squad, packed in, pouting and beckoning from Terri's father's Lada Niva four-by-four.</p><p>He'd loved that bike.  He'd altered the gears to make them run with maximum efficiency for the terrain. Rodney's right hand twitched and he found his fingers reaching toward his absent thigh holster. Never mind the laurel wreaths of golden youth - Nate's forehead would have been better garnished by a hole from a well-placed 9mil round.</p><p>Rodney smirked at this Sheppardly murderous thought and moved on.</p><p>He reached the school.  Cars were arriving, unrecognisable faces emerging, friends greeting each other.</p><p>It had been more than twenty years.  The skinny youth that he had been then was long gone.  He had battled Wraith, been tortured by Genii, faced down jeopardy at every turn; he had employed every last neuron of his wit, guile and intellect to save himself, his colleagues, his home and his planet from threats unimaginable to these ordinary people in their ordinary cars and ordinary lives.</p><p>Rodney shot his cuffs and strode boldly forward, chin raised to meet the golden beams of the setting summer sun.  He was quite literally, bathed in glory.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>oOo</p>
</div>“Hey, it’s Fort McEyeball!”<p>A hard shove between Rodney’s shoulder blades made him stumble up the step, scuffing his shoes.</p><p>“McKayak!  Long time no see!”</p><p>Rodney attempted to turn round, but a hearty thump on his shoulder unbalanced him and he fell, his palms smacking the concrete, the edge of the steps bruising his legs.</p><p>“Nate.”  A weary female voice spoke.  “Let him be.”</p><p>“Hey, what’re you doing down there, buddy?”</p><p>A fist grabbed a handful of Rodney’s shirt together with his tie and he was hauled upward.  He found himself face-to-face with an all-too-recognisable sneer.  “Nate Tremblay.”</p><p>“The one and only.”</p><p>The fist remained bunched in Rodney’s shirt.  He glared at it, pointedly, but Nate didn’t take the hint.  Hot, sour breath puffed in his face.</p><p>“Been a long time, McEyesore.”</p><p>He’d protested, once, unwisely, at the mispronunciation of his name.  The town of Fort McKay, rhyming with pie, a few miles to the north, hadn’t helped.  Rodney’s one rebellion against his misnaming had been put down hard and fast and resulted in a constant barrage of moronic variations on the same theme.</p><p>“It’s McKay.  Dr -”</p><p>“Yeah, sure it is.”  He was suddenly released and Nate spun around.  “Hey, the gang’s all here!”  He flung out his arms and greeted a group of men.</p><p>Rodney straightened his tie and tucked in his shirt.  Nate Tremblay.  Still here after all this time.  Still the leader of the pack.  He was as big, maybe bigger than Rodney remembered, although the jowls beneath his coarsened, but still-handsome face argued that his impressive physique might be down to the well-tailored suit and possibly some very substantial and structural underclothes, rather than lean muscle.</p><p>“Are you okay?”  The blonde woman took a hungry drag on her cigarette, dropped the butt and stood on it, her shining red slingbacks grinding it into the concrete.</p><p>“Yes, I’m fine.  It’s Terri, isn’t it?”</p><p>A smile began on the over-made-up face.  Her eyes were shadowed beneath the thick layer, and down-turned lines at the corners of her mouth suggested that life had not been kind to Terri Johnson.</p><p>“That’s Mrs Tremblay, to you, McEyesore."</p><p>Terri’s legs buckled beneath the weight of a heavy arm thrown over her shoulders.</p><p>Nate made a show of looking left and right and over Rodney's shoulder, as if someone might be hiding behind his back.  "No wife, McEyeful?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Huh.  Figures.  Who'd marry a loser like you?  C'mon guys.  Drinking time's a wastin'."</p><p>Nate led and his disciples followed.  He was just the same.  And Rodney had done nothing, said nothing.  His acid tongue had deserted him, his quick wits slowed to a standstill by Nate's black hole presence.  After all these years, all the things he had seen, the things he had done, the huge, monumental achievements that he had been a key part of, after all that, this man, this pinprick on the face of the universe, could still reduce him to the gawky, geeky, tongue-tied coward that he'd been back then.</p><p>He'd just leave.  It had been a mistake.  He'd go, without even passing the portals of the place which had, after all, never been his territory.</p><p>He turned away, reaching into his pocket for his cellphone.  No more walking the streets of hollow memory.  Back to the hotel and call John.</p><p>"Rodney?"</p><p>A figure hesitated on the steps below him; bald as an egg, skinny as a rake and, to add to the list of clichés, blind as a bat, judging by the thickness of his lenses.</p><p>Rodney frowned and his mind scoured away the years.  "Obi-Wan?"</p><p>A small smile curled into life.  "You remembered."</p><p>"How could I forget?" asked Rodney, though he couldn't for the life of him remember the guy's real name.</p><p>Obi-Wan shambled up the steps and stood next to him.  "I can't believe you're here.  You look good."</p><p>"Oh, er, thanks.  You look, er…" Truthfully his old friend looked like he'd been run over by a sandcrawler.  "Good.  You look great.  Um… look, I'm not sure I'm staying."</p><p>"Oh.  Really?" Obi-Wan's face sagged, as if the Jawas were coming back for another go.</p><p>"Oh, well, maybe I'll stay.  For the buffet, anyway."</p><p>"Cool." The sag lifted and the shadow of Rodney's old Science Club friend re-emerged.  "That'd be cool."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>oOo</p>
</div>The buffet was barely adequate, the music too evocative of the past, and the company, with the obvious notable exception, pleasant but unstimulating.  Rodney was bored.<p>“He’s a big shot, now, Tremblay.  Project Manager or District Manager or something.”</p><p>“What, in oil?”</p><p>Obi-Wan’s head bobbed.  “Not much else to do round here, you know that.”</p><p>“He was going to leave.”</p><p>“He did,” said Obi-Wan, putting his paper plate down on the table and leaning back in his chair.  “But he came back.  There was some scandal.  I never found out what.  It was hushed up.”  Obi-Wan sipped at his 7-Up.  “He came back, Daddy pulled a few strings to get him a job, he married Terri Johnson.”</p><p>“Looks like he’s kept his admirers.”</p><p>Nate, the centre of a large court, suddenly roared with laughter and his followers dutifully copied.  Nate sneered in Rodney’s direction and Rodney found himself shrinking in his seat.  He sat up straighter, angry and impatient with himself.  Why was he lurking in a corner, hoping not to be noticed?  He should just march up and punch the guy in the nose.</p><p>A glum-faced deejay mumbled something unencouraging between the end of George Michael's 'Faith' and the start of 'Never gonna give you up.’  A few brave souls began to dance.</p><p>Rodney picked up a vol-au-vent, contemplated its dubious contents, and put it down again. "So, you've been teaching here for how long?"</p><p>"Ten years," said Obi-Wan.  "Didn't think I'd ever come back to this place after Caltech, but… you know how it is."</p><p>Rodney didn't really know how it was, but could take a guess based on his old friend's 'make the best of it' shrug.</p><p>"I can't believe you work for the military.  Although you did build that nuclear warhead that time."</p><p>“A non-working model," said Rodney.  “Weapons’ grade plutonium being not generally available to sixth graders.”</p><p>"Happy days,” said Obi-Wan, erroneously.  “You sure you can't tell me what you do?  Hey, it's Area 51, isn't it?  I bet that's where you work."</p><p>Rodney raised an eyebrow and shrugged, but being mysterious wasn't as much fun as he'd expected.</p><p>"Come on, Skywalker, throw me a crumb.  Are aliens real?  Little grey men - do they exist?"</p><p>Rodney smiled.  He'd never told John that a very, very few people had known him as Skywalker when he was at school. He shook his head.  "It's all top secret."</p><p>"Ha!  That's a yes.  Isn't it?  It is, isn't it?  Skywalker?  Hey, d'you remember that time when you fixed Mrs Newman's overhead projector with a paperclip and an elastic band and someone started calling you McGyver?"</p><p>"Yes, and they were very soon slapped down for that."</p><p>"I thought you were so cool."</p><p>"<em>Did</em> you?"</p><p>"Yeah.  Skywalker.  McGyver.  I bet you have a cool nickname now too.  The kids all call me Sweaty Smith.  They think I don’t know.”</p><p>Smith.  No wonder he’d forgotten.  He still couldn’t remember Obi-Wan Smith’s first name, though.  “What happened to Han and Leia?”</p><p>“Han went into software design.  I think he lives in Florida.  I don’t know what happened to Leia after college.  She went travelling, I think.”  Obi-Wan picked up his paper plate and dabbed at the fragments of cheesy puffs with an orange finger.  “I, uh... I know your dark secret, by the way.”</p><p>“What?  What secret?”</p><p>“Your deep, dark secret that you tell to no one.”</p><p>He couldn’t know anything, could he?  “I don’t have any secrets.”</p><p>“Sure you do, <em>Meredith</em>.”  Obi-Wan grinned.</p><p>“Oh.  How did you find out?”  Jeannie probably told everyone, but only after he’d left school and before Obi-Wan had started teaching.</p><p>“I always knew.  How there was this kid in the kindergarten class called Meredith and then there was that time the sprinkler system and the fire alarm went off and then, after Spring break there was a new kid in my class called Rodney.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“How d’you do it?  At five years old?”</p><p>“Yes, well I had to do something.  Certain elements of the class were already so indoctrinated into this stifling society as to take offence at my name, and show a fair inclination to make my life hell for the next twelve or so years.”  Rodney paused, rubbing his lower lip.  “I don’t really remember much about it. It was long before school records were kept on computer, so I had to get into the office.”</p><p>“You altered your record card.  And then had yourself moved forward a couple of grades?”</p><p>“Yes, well, I think that was going to happen anyway.”</p><p>The deejay turned up the volume.  Nate and some of his gang were dancing to ‘Hungry Eyes’.  Nate stepped on Terri’s foot and she turned away, but he caught her arm and pulled her back roughly.</p><p>“He’s not changed,” said Rodney.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said -  Oh, never mind.”  The beat thumped in Rodney’s ears.  There wasn’t much point in staying if he couldn’t even talk to Obi-Wan ‘Sweaty’ Smith, which was, unfortunately, an apt enough descriptor for his old friend.  An Asgard transporter beam would be great right about now.</p><p>Nate was drunk.  He stepped on his wife’s foot again; and again she tried to leave the dancefloor, but was pulled back.  Even in the floating beams of the disco lights, Rodney could see the indentations Nate’s fingers were making on her skin.  Her mouth opened in protest but Rodney couldn’t hear her voice.  Nate jerked her arm and, though the music pounded on, she clearly winced in pain.  He grabbed a handful of her hair and, tugging her ear close to his mouth, spoke a few savage words that made her cringe and shake her head.</p><p>Rodney found himself on his feet, his fists clenched at his sides, adrenaline roaring louder than the beat of ‘Sweet child o' mine’.  He was moving through the dancers, Nate’s glistening green-lit face a beacon before him.  Terri’s eyes widened as she noticed Rodney’s approach and Nate released her and turned to face him, a welcoming smirk on his slab-like features. </p><p>Then Rodney was jerked off balance and his next few unsteady footfalls took him on a divergent course.  Nate’s face bobbed away to his left.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>His arm was jerked again.</p><p>“What the hell were you doing?”  Obi-Wan towed Rodney through a set of double doors and the music diminished.  The grip on his arm released.  “What the hell were you doing, Rodney?  You can’t take on Nate Tremblay!”</p><p>“I don’t know what I was doing.  Just something.  I had to do something.”</p><p>“Seriously?  You’re going to come between Nate Tremblay and his wife?”</p><p>“He’s drunk.  He was hurting her.  Someone had to do something.”</p><p>“The last time someone tried to ‘do something’ with Nate, they ended up in hospital.”</p><p>Rodney swallowed, the tide of his adrenaline receding.  The cheese straws and chicken wings moved uneasily in his stomach.  What had he been thinking?  Nate would have beaten him to a pulp.  “I, uh…  Is there a bathroom down here?  I don’t remember.”</p><p>“This way,” said Obi-Wan.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>oOo</p>
</div>“Why is there no door?”  The bathrooms had been remodelled, no doubt several times since Rodney’s day.  This incarnation was open to the hallway.  Washing his hands, Rodney could see right out into the corridor..<p>“It’s supposed to stop the kids smoking or taking drugs during breaks.”</p><p>“Oh.  Does it work?”</p><p>“Not really.  They always find a way.”</p><p>There was a stain on the lapel of Rodney’s suit; grease from the chicken wings, maybe or from one of the oily dips.  He wet the edge of a paper towel and dabbed at it.</p><p>Obi-Wan hovered behind him.  “So, uh, are you with anyone?  Like, married or anything?”</p><p>“I suppose,” said Rodney, regarding the stain with annoyance, “That you might classify it as ‘like married.’”</p><p>“Really?  You got kids?”</p><p>“No.  Kids would be… difficult in a number of ways.  He’s in the military.  We work together.”</p><p>“Oh.  I didn’t realise.  I mean, I know you didn’t have girlfriends at school, but…”</p><p>“Hmm, no. It took me a while to catch on.  But then I don’t recall ever being encouraged to explore my gender identity or sexual orientation as part of the curriculum, so…  Never mind.  Got there in the end.”</p><p>“So you’re gay?”</p><p>The paper towel was disintegrating into little blue flakes and had done nothing for the stain.  “What?  Oh.  No.  Bi.”</p><p>“I knew it!”  A thickly derisive voice echoed around the bathroom.  “I always knew you were a faggot!  A disgusting little pervy gay-boy!”</p><p>Nate marched in and shoved Rodney, who backed away until he stood against the wall.  The meaty fist once more clenched around a bunch of his shirt and his tie.  That silk tie would never be the same again.</p><p>“My hand’s on my cellphone.  I have 911 on speed dial,” said Rodney.</p><p>Nate took a step back and released him.  It wouldn’t be that easy, would it?</p><p>“You’re gonna get what’s coming to you, faggot.”</p><p>The blood pounded in Rodney’s ears.  He was still scared of the Neanderthal, just as he’d been all those years ago.  But he’d got used to being scared and knew he could function just as well, sometimes better, when he was terrified out of his wits.  And there was the fact that the ape was insulting his relationship with John, which Rodney could have stood for his own part, but refused to put up with for John’s sake.</p><p>“Why don’t you tell me exactly what’s coming to me?  Hmm?” Rodney demanded.  “Why don’t you explain exactly what I’ve done in getting the hell away from you and making a life for myself?”</p><p>“I don’t have to explain anything to you, you pansy.”</p><p>Rodney let slip a bark of laughter.  “Pansy?  Ha.”</p><p>“You think that’s funny?”</p><p>“I think that’s hilarious.  You just have no idea, have you?  No idea at all.”  His best friend, the love of his life, Colonel John Sheppard, was a ‘pansy’ according to this pathetic excuse for a human being.  John, who could take out six Wraith before breakfast without even breaking a sweat, who got into a Jumper with a nuclear warhead on board to save them all, who put his life on the line, day in, day out, and who even the sight of, toting his P-90 with casual deadliness, would make Nate wet his pants.  And, even if John had sat and pressed flowers all day - actual pansies in fact - that still wouldn’t give anyone the right to insult who he was on a fundamental level.</p><p>“You and me, McFaggot.  Outside.  Now.”</p><p>“Oh, for God’s sake.”  Rodney rolled his eyes.  “No.  I won’t ‘take this outside’, because there’s nothing to take outside other than your repellent pig-ignorance, which really isn’t worth a nanosecond of my attention.”</p><p>For a moment, Nate paused, his jaw slack, his jowls wobbling with surprise and confusion.  How long had it been since someone had stood up to him?  Had they ever?  Then his eyes took on a look of cunning which Rodney didn’t like.  Their suddenly black beadiness flicked to Obi-Wan and back to Rodney.</p><p>“You’ll go outside and take what I have to give you, or Smith’ll have to watch his back for the rest of his life.”</p><p>A bitter taste flooded Rodney’s mouth.  This was a little man, a small villain with a small mind.  But for intent he equalled any treacherous Genii.</p><p>“And don’t you go thinking I won’t do it.  There’s plenty in this town who owe me a favour.  Smith’ll be in hospital a long time, with nothing anyone could trace back to me.”</p><p>“Rodney?”</p><p>Rodney didn’t know if his old friend was pleading with him to fight or not to fight.  Obi-Wan probably didn’t know either.  “Fine.  Have it your way.”  Rodney’s chin jerked up.  “If you insist on settling this, whatever ‘this’ is, like two Neanderthals, then fine.  On your head be it!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>oOo</p>
</div>There was a shiny new science block where the old modular building used to be, where Rodney and his friends had hung out in those distant pre-internet days.  The new block formed the hypotenuse of a triangular outdoor space, which was dotted with tables and benches for those days when Canadian weather allowed for dining al fresco, or possibly just for those kids who didn’t care if they froze as long as they could get away from the social apartheid of the dining hall.<p>Nate’s gang and his wife had followed him out, and there was a steady trickle of alumni coming out of the gym.  Some of them sussed out the situation straight away and either found themselves a spot to observe the proceedings, turned determinedly back to the party, or stood irresolute, looking like they knew they should do something but weren’t sure which side to back.</p><p>The sun had set.  It was a bit cold, but Rodney took off his jacket anyway and handed it to Obi-Wan.  A voice in his head said, experimentally, ‘Rodney McKay is going to fight Nate Tremblay’.   He took out his cuff-links and rolled up his sleeves and the voice continued, ‘Rodney McKay is going to get beaten to a pulp by Nate Tremblay.’  He took off his sadly crumpled tie, stuck it in his jacket pocket and undid the top button of his shirt.  The voice took another virtual breath and he told it, very firmly, to shut up.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” said Obi-Wan.</p><p>“It’s not your fault.”</p><p>“You weren’t even going to stay, were you?  You only stayed because of me.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault, Obi-Wan -  Look, what actually is your name?  Your real name?”</p><p>“I didn’t think you remembered.  You always called me Obi-Wan.  It’s John.  John Smith.”</p><p>“Oh.  Well, I’ve already got a John, so you’ll have to stick with Obi-Wan.”</p><p>“’S okay.”</p><p>“Hey, McEyeball?  You finished putting on your make-up yet?”</p><p>Rodney turned to face the centre of the impromptu arena.  Nate’s minions had spread out to form a semi-circle at his back.  Terri stood to one side, a cigarette in her hand, a resigned expression in her face.  Nate still had his jacket on.  Perhaps he wasn’t expecting to move much.  Maybe he thought Rodney would simply run onto his fist.</p><p>“I’m ready,” said Rodney.  Sweat prickled on the palms of his hands, even though they were ice cold.  He wiped them on his pants.  </p><p>Nate clenched one huge fist and smacked it into his other hand.  “That’s gonna be your face, McKylie.”  He laughed and his friends joined in, repeating this new example of their leader’s erudition, and the laughter hadn’t died before he strode forward, a sudden rush, like an old bull elephant disturbed by hunters.  </p><p>If he was expecting Rodney to stand still and ‘take what was coming to him’, Nate would be disappointed.  Rodney was no longer the skinny, gawky teenager he’d been.  He’d gained a lot of muscle in his twenties and while he hadn’t always been the perfect specimen of physical fitness or agility, his years spent on a Gate team as well as his years of training sessions with Ronon and Teyla had turned him into an efficient, if reluctant, fighter.</p><p>Rodney side-stepped the rush, moving well out of range of the swinging fists.  Nate lumbered around and made another headlong charge.  Rodney side-stepped again.</p><p>His opponent roared his anger, but his tactics changed.  It would have been easy to wear the heavier man out by dodging his blows, but it didn’t look like Nate was going to fall for that.  His eyes became calculating and his movements more unpredictable.</p><p>He moved left and Rodney moved the opposite way, but then a feint drew Rodney in and one of the anvil-like fists was hurtling toward his jaw.  He swayed to one side but it caught him a glancing blow on his cheekbone and his head snapped back, his neck muscles painfully taught.</p><p>Nate grinned in triumph but let his guard fall, turning to acknowledge the cheers of his supporters.</p><p>Now was Rodney's opportunity, and despite his years of training with Ronon and Teyla, it was John's voice that he heard; John's voice, crystal clear, as if he were standing right next to him, directing Rodney to the three attacks most likely to disorient a larger opponent.</p><p>
  <em>An open-handed slap to a guy's ear's gonna make his head spin.</em>
</p><p>Slap!</p><p>
  <em>Then a punch on the nose and his eyes'll water so he's fighting blind.</em>
</p><p>Crunch!</p><p>
  <em>Follow that up with a knee to his junk and you're pretty much done.</em>
</p><p>This third tactic failed, as Nate, even blinded, brought his huge fists back into play.  A blow thudded into Rodney’s ribs and he leapt back out of range.  Nate’s nose was streaming with blood and he flicked his head to one side, sending a spray to splatter onto the concrete.</p><p>There was silence from the watching crowd.</p><p>Nate’s face was murderous, the blood on his face black in the patchy light from the open door of the gym.  His bared teeth glinted and a threatening rumble came from deep within his broad chest.</p><p>Rodney swallowed.  The guy had been mad before, now he looked like he’d lost the plot completely, all thoughts of consequences gone.  A decisive strike was needed, before he pounded Rodney into the blood-splattered ground.</p><p>Rodney waited, his fists and forearms guarding his head and torso.  Nate made his move, feinting to one side again.  Rodney didn’t fall for it this time, and dodged the real attack, but Nate followed it up with a punch that he couldn’t avoid.  He swayed to one side and took it on his shoulder.  His left arm went suddenly numb.  </p><p>Now.  He had to strike now, or he was going down.</p><p>Rodney pushed forward, inside Nate’s reach and struck out with all of the force he could muster, feeling the blow rise up from the soles of his feet, through his body and concentrate into a solid point of power.  His fist met Nate’s solar plexus, hitting the spot dead on, as Ronon had taught him.  Nate folded forward, gasping, but Rodney didn’t move back in time and, despite his jerking chest and fish-like gaping, Nate’s groping hand found Rodney’s ankle, gripped hard and jerked his foot forward.  Rodney bounced on one leg, his arm still numb and flapping uselessly; if he went down, Nate would flatten him.</p><p>The grip on Rodney’s ankle tightened, but he was still bent forward, heaving for breath against the assault on his nerve cluster.  Rodney hopped, wobbled, hopped again and then rabbit-punched Nate, chopping the side of his hand down hard on the back of his neck.  A dangerous blow, but he knew Nate wouldn’t hesitate to do the same, or worse, to him.</p><p>With a grunt, Nate dropped, releasing Rodney’s ankle.</p><p>Rodney staggered back, breathing hard.  He put a hand up to his cheek, which was throbbing angrily.  His numbed arm tingled and his fingers twitched.</p><p>“Wow, Skywalker, you took him down!”</p><p>None of Nate’s gang moved to help their leader.  They looked at each other and then at Rodney.  Terri took several quick, nervous drags on her cigarette.</p><p>Nate groaned, tried to rise, but fell back to the ground, a large, defeated heap.</p><p>Surprised murmurs came from the watching crowd, which seemed to have grown, and more people came out of the door leading to the gym.</p><p>Rodney wasn’t sure what to do.  How did you act when you’d won a fight against the playground bully?  It wasn’t a situation he’d ever expected to be in.  He turned away toward Obi-Wan.  He’d put on his jacket and leave.  There’d be some ice in the mini-bar in his hotel room.  His cheek would bruise as well as his ribs; he’d have to explain it all to John, who'd probably blame himself for not being there to take the bruises in Rodney's place.</p><p>Then Obi-Wan gasped and there were cries of horror behind him.  “He’s got a gun!”</p><p>Rodney spun round.  Nate had staggered to his feet and was advancing on Rodney, and Rodney’s eyes homed in on the only thing that mattered - the small, round, spot of black that was the business end of a handgun, held in a wavering grip by Nate’s huge, red-knuckled hand.</p><p>Terri screamed.</p><p>Rodney froze.</p><p>“Gotcha now, fag.  Gonna put you down for good.”</p><p>"Nate, no!"</p><p>Nate ignored his wife and took another step.  The gun barrel wavered and danced, closer and closer.</p><p>He couldn't go down to this petty-minded thug.  He couldn't - not after all he'd been through, all the dangers he's faced.  He lived, worked and fought in another galaxy; he couldn't come to such a pathetic end at his high school reunion, of all places.  </p><p>Rodney heard John’s voice again, this time drawling through a mouthful of popcorn, watching some stupid shoot-em-up movie:  <em>He’s too close.</em>  He'd seen John, training Marines in the gym to fight an armed opponent, and in real life, was it against a Genii soldier?  Unarmed and apparently helpless, he'd taken the man's weapon and turned it against him.</p><p>Nate and his gun came closer and Rodney's eyes were all for the weapon's deadly menace, aimed directly at his chest, as if drawn by the frantic, terrified pumping of his heart.</p><p>It wavered and Rodney moved.  His right arm darted up, grabbed Nate’s wrist, forcing it up and out.  The gun fired, but Rodney had been close to gunfire many times and didn’t falter.  He twisted Nate’s arm, forcing the gun further away from the crowd and, while he was at it, made good on his earlier failed attempt to hit his opponent where it would hurt most.  The hard, bony angle of his knee met softness with crushing force.</p><p>
  <em>Nice one, McKay.</em>
</p><p>Nate sagged forward, wheezing and whimpering.  Rodney pulled the weapon out of his hand, pointed it away and down at the ground, released the magazine and ejected the cartridge in the chamber, then checked the weapon again.  Empty.  It was definitely empty.</p><p>The weapon was made safe and his opponent was on the ground and it was over.</p><p>Rodney suddenly became aware of the cold night air and the thinness of his shirt.  It was torn at the front and there were a couple of buttons missing.  He shivered.</p><p>Shuffling feet drew his attention and he looked up.  The eyes of the crowd were upon him.  Nate began to crawl toward his entourage, but they backed away.</p><p>He held out a shaking hand toward his wife.  She took a hesitant step toward him and then stopped.  Nate's arm fell and his head flopped on top of it.  Whether he was dazed or just drunk, Rodney didn't know or care.</p><p>Nobody seemed to know what to do or say.  The adrenaline ebbed and Rodney shivered again.  His arm trembled and he realised he still held Nate’s gun.  “I suppose no one thought to call the cops?”</p><p>The watchers looked at each other.</p><p>“Wouldn’t do any good,” said one woman.  “Old man Tremblay’s pals with the Crown Prosecutor.”</p><p>Terri gave a hiccup of watery laughter and sank down onto one of the benches.  She put her head in one hand.</p><p>Rodney sighed.  An evening out, a little preening at the expense of others, a few trips to the buffet table - that was all he’d required.  Instead of which…</p><p>He turned and took his jacket from Obi-Wan.  Rodney slipped the gun into a pocket and drew out his cellphone.</p><p>“Don’t do it, McKay,” said the woman.</p><p>“Yeah, we have to live here.  You’ll just make it worse for us,” said Obi-Wan.</p><p>"You'll make it worse for me." Tears were streaming down Terri's face, black with mascara.  She tried to say more, but dissolved into choking sobs.</p><p>“I can assure you quite confidently that I won’t,” said Rodney.  He turned and walked away around the end of the science block, pressed a speed-dial button and outlined the situation in a few, terse words.  He didn’t recognise the voice on the other end, but the tone was unsurprised; perhaps SGC staff on vacation regularly got into this kind of situation.</p><p>Rodney rolled down his sleeves and put his jacket back on.  It was definitely time to call it a night.  He’d slip out round the side of the building before anyone could draw him back into the gym, or before the cops could arrive.</p><p>Things would be moving, behind the scenes; through the great web of communication, Nate Tremblay's fate was passing from one hand to another, spinning, flying apart and realigning itself into a hard future.  A future which would leave this community, and especially his wife, with the chance to live a freer life.</p><p>And, Rodney realised, brightening despite his various pains, if he left now, it would be as if he'd vanished, mysteriously, into the night, having righted the wrongs of the neighbourhood, in a crime-fighting superhero-like manner - which was, after all, the kind of vibe he'd been hoping for.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>oOo</p>
</div>Unfortunately it would have taken more than smoke, mirrors, a fast car or even superpowers to enable Rodney to disappear from the scene of his triumph.<p>Obi-Wan waylaid Rodney as he was looking for a sneaky way out, and then the police arrived.  They arrested an unprotesting, still dazed Nate, took charge of his weapon, spent minimal time questioning the party-goers and then departed, wishing them a pleasant evening.  Rodney supposed he’d have to give a statement at some point, but the powers-that-be seemed to have smoothed his road for the time being at least.  The police officers had certainly seemed happy, word having presumably seeped down that this time their charges would stick.</p><p>“You were so cool, Rodney!” said Obi-Wan, presenting him with a loaded plate from the freshly-stocked buffet.  “So cool!”</p><p>“Yeah, where’d you learn to fight like that?”</p><p>“And handle a gun, like you do it all the time.”</p><p>“And who’d you call?  Friends in high places, huh?”</p><p>Suddenly Rodney was surrounded - the centre of attention, the faces all turned toward him, aglow with admiration, hanging on his every word.  It was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?</p><p>“I have a few contacts,” he said, evasively.</p><p>“Hey, guys, remember when we used to call him McGyver?”</p><p>“Yeah, and Dead-eye McKay.  Remember that?”</p><p>“Dead-eye?  What?”  Rodney didn’t remember that at all, and he was sure it was something he would have remembered.</p><p>“That's right.  You always stood up to Nate when no one else did.  Gave him that thousand-yard stare as if you could see right through him.”</p><p>Rodney was pretty sure that if he’d ever stared at Nate Tremblay it was only when he was picturing his own imminent demise.</p><p>“You were so cool.  Never let him get one over on you.”</p><p><em>I hid</em>, thought Rodney.  <em>I hid and skulked and lurked and avoided.  And ate my lunch with my underwear on my head.</em>  His old cohort seemed to have forgotten these things.</p><p>He was tired and sore and he wanted to go, but the crowd shepherded him to a table, plied him with food and drink and generally treated him like a legend and saviour.  Rodney missed John.</p><p>Then out of the speakers floated a ripple of piano chords and a voice began to sing, <em>‘Who knows what tomorrow brings?’</em>.  Rodney shook his head and reached, appropriately, for another cheese straw.  <em>They’ll join in on the chorus</em>, he thought, looking wearily at the smiling faces around him.</p><p>But they didn’t, and he realised that the room had fallen silent but for the familiar rising strain, <em>‘Love lift us up where we belong.’</em></p><p>He looked up from his plate.  The crowd parted, and on the threshold of the gym, beneath the arch of balloons in the blue and red school colours, stood John; Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, in his full dress blues, medals on his chest and his hat tucked neatly under his arm.  His narrowed eyes scanned the room, his face hard and expressionless, but when they fell on Rodney his lips twitched into a smile, he stepped forward and those changeable eyes caught the light and shone.</p><p>Several of the crowd around Rodney sighed in appreciation.  <em>As well they might,</em> he thought, feeling a grin spread across his face and his cheeks redden and widen until he probably looked like one of the balloons.  He didn’t care.</p><p>John strode across the dance floor, his eyes fixed on his goal.  Rodney wanted to get up, to go to him, even to join in a slow-motion, running-together embrace in front of everyone.  But he was trapped by his admirers, the table at his front, the corner of the gym at his back.  He thought about diving beneath the table and out between their legs.</p><p>Then John was there, in front of him, smiling, a glance to the left and right and a lifted eyebrow questioning Rodney’s popularity.  He shook his head, and held out his hand.  “Nobody puts Rodney in the corner,” he smirked.</p><p>“Wrong movie,” Rodney replied.  But the crowd parted and he shuffled his way out and took John’s outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled into John’s arms.</p><p>The music continued, the chorus rising once more.  “Are you carrying me out of here?” Rodney asked.</p><p>“Ha, yeah.  I’m the officer, you’re the gentleman.”</p><p>“I don’t think a gentleman goes round kneeing people in the privates.”</p><p>“Yeah, I heard about that.”  John drew away and his fingertips moved Rodney’s bruised cheek into the light.  “Are you okay?”</p><p>Rodney shrugged.  “It wasn’t quite what I expected.  All this.  But, yes, yes, I’m okay.”</p><p>“Good.”  John leant forward and kissed him and, encouraged by whooping and a certain amount of vulgar hollering from the crowd, Rodney responded, bringing his hands up to sink his fingers into John’s hair and sink them both deep into the kiss and each other’s presence.</p><p>The music changed.  <em>‘Now I’ve had the time of my life.’</em></p><p>John smirked and sniggered.</p><p>“Don’t get carried away, Mr Swayze.  I don’t think either of us are up for that lift.”</p><p>“Yeah.  I could manage a kinda half-assed shuffle, though.”</p><p>“Half-assed shuffle sounds exactly my style.”</p><p>Rodney put his arms around John’s waist.  John put his arms around Rodney’s shoulders but then had to be adjusted to Rodney’s exact specifications in order to avoid any blooming bruises.</p><p>The black brows were lowered.  “Are you sure you’re okay?   ’Cause I can have us beamed outta here right now.”</p><p>“In front of everyone?  I don’t think so.  And yes, I’m okay.  I might need some extra TLC later, though.  And for a few days.”</p><p>“That can be arranged.”</p><p>Rodney let himself be steered slowly around the dancefloor.  "I'm glad you made it."</p><p>"I wouldn't have.  I was on my way, but I wouldn't have made it."</p><p>"You were beamed?"</p><p>"From the airport bathrooms.  I had them wait while I got changed."</p><p>"Good move.  Impressive."</p><p>"Yeah, I thought maybe I might need the blues - a bit of extra authority.  Didn't, though."</p><p>"No.  But it was a great entrance.  Very cool."</p><p>"Thank you.  I thought so."</p><p>The song came to an end.  Rodney lifted his face away from John’s shoulder.</p><p>“Time to go?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Rodney.  “Time to go.”</p><p>They left, amid a hail of promises to meet again that almost certainly wouldn’t be fulfilled.  John smirked at Rodney’s nicknames, and returned Obi-Wan’s ‘Live long and prosper’ salute with a ‘May the force be with you.’</p><p>In the cab, Rodney pondered and dozed, his head once more on John’s shoulder.  </p><p>He'd been thinking of this evening, this reunion, as some long-abandoned arcade game that he'd never quite got the better of; he'd give it one more go, beat the hell out of his highscore, and then leave, never to return.</p><p>But it hadn’t been like that.  It had been both less and more, a revelation and yet strangely irrelevant.   As he’d danced slowly around the old gym, catching one or two eyes, exchanging tentative nods with a couple of vaguely familiar faces, Rodney had realised that these ordinary people, living ordinary lives in an ordinary town, were doing the best they could. They were nice people who, like everyone, sometimes took the easy route, sometimes failed to stand up to bullies.  But they weren't a part of his life anymore, even though they, ultimately, were the ones he and John, and everyone on Atlantis, were protecting.</p><p>Whether he could have done more, all those years ago, was debatable.  Maybe if he’d faced off against Nate then, things might have been different.  Or perhaps they would have been exactly the same, or worse.  It didn’t matter.  He’d moved on.</p><p> “It wasn’t what I expected,” he said.</p><p>“You said that.”</p><p>“Yes, but not just the fight.”  John’s uniform was scratchy but comforting under his cheek.  “I hated school.  I never got how it was supposed to work, how you were supposed to be.  So I cut myself off and hid as much as I could.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“But they don’t remember it like that.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Everyone.  Back there.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“They thought I was cool; a cool, rebel-without-a-cause type, going my own way.  Dead-eye McKay.”</p><p>John snorted.</p><p>“So, which is true?” asked Rodney.</p><p>“Neither.  Both.  Maybe something in between.”</p><p>“Hmm.  I suppose.”</p><p>“One thing I do know," said John.</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“I know you <em>now</em>.  The real you - the highs and the lows, the bravery and the fear, the fun and the… the spikiness.”</p><p>“Spikiness?”</p><p>“You know it.”</p><p>“I do.  And?”</p><p>John just grinned.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You know what.”</p><p>“Say it.”</p><p>“Okay.  I love you, Meredith Rodney Dead-eye Skywalker McGyver McKay.”</p><p>“Love you too, John.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!  Please leave kudos if you liked it and comments are always lovely - I like a chat!  Also, don't forget to check out 'Cold Wind from Teksa'corani' which I'm posting (with illustrations) on Tuesdays and Fridays.<br/>Salchat</p></blockquote></div></div>
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